Winter Wanderer


White mountains,

white sky,

a white lane into the distance.

A bird of prey plummets towards the ground,

a mouse scurries into its hole with a shriek.

When dusk begins to fall, I head back home,

picking more firewood as I go along.

Smoke curls from every house in the village,

my shoes are soggy, my coat threadbare.

As I enter this old hut,

 silence and the clock on the wall stand still.

A single teacup on the table,

a kettle on the stove.

How could I be not content!

The sky is full of stars,

the moon returns each night.

This entry was posted in Random Scribbles and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Winter Wanderer

  1. mata says:

    ..z lahkoto predstavljivo in lepo zapisano

  2. Sara says:

    I love. Your writing creates great imagery and makes me feel good and relate to my own experiences. Truly great.

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